


written on fortune cookies

by binarytonystark



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Insecure Tony, Multi, Other, Praise, Pre-Iron Man 1, Reader-Insert, The Not-A-Date Date, Tony "The Futurist" Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 19:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15893025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binarytonystark/pseuds/binarytonystark
Summary: Words are cheap, like Chinese take-away.Tony has a lot of praise, but it interferes with your work and you don't want to hear it.





	written on fortune cookies

You look up from your workspace in R&D at Stark Industries, the formula in front of you starting to jumble into tangled knots. You lean against the lip of your desk and close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose to relieve the growing headache. You start to wonder if the stress is finally winning.

You’re not deaf to how your colleagues passively envy you. Slighted by even the senior staff because the company’s young, often aloof, CEO Tony Stark has been playing obvious favorites. You try to ignore the accusations, you’re merely just trying to do your research. You didn’t ask for fancy offices or labs; but Stark offered them to you anyway, regardless of whose toes may have been trampled on in the process.

It’s not your fault Stark is suddenly a bit too interested. And you know it’s not entirely over your research into auditory stimuli. You’d be a fool to refuse either way. This was your life’s work after all. 

So you’re stuck in this dance where Stark will come down and listen in earnest about how you have progressed in your research. You’ll keep your head down after he leaves to not draw ire from your colleagues. And then it will start anew a few days later, or even a week or so. But it always does.

Like today.

The lab door slides open, followed by a rustle of plastic and heavy footsteps. You open your eyes to find him in the entryway, two bags full of what appears to be chinese take-away in either hand.

“Mr. Stark,” you push from your perch on the desk and turn to face him, a kind smile masking the surprise. Why are you surprised? This is the third in two weeks that he has dropped by.

He returns the smile, not quite reaching all the way to his hopeful eyes. He lifts the bag and asks if you had eaten yet, to which is shake your head.

“Good,” is all he says before turning on his heel and walking out the way he came. It takes a moment before you realize you are meant to follow. He ducks into the stairwell the leads up to the roof of the building.

The cool upstate air shakes you to your core as it tears easily through your lab coat. Other scientists would come up to the roof to smoke or hope the fresh air would provide new insight, but it was empty today. Stark drops the bags off at one of the tables that shouldn’t be on the roof but were snuck up here anyway.

“Mr. Stark,” you start to say but he shakes his head.

“You said that already,” he points out before motioning to the chair across from him, “please just call me Tony.”

You nod, and take the seat he offered, “Tony. Is this really proper? The other researchers talk, you know.”

“Is that supposed to matter?” He asks, flashing a smile that curls the corners of his mouth up, almost devilish. He begins to pull out the boxes, offering the orange chicken to you. “I don’t know another soul in this building with as beautiful a mind as you.”

Your face instantly turns red as you bow your head to hide it, unaware the blush is crawling up the tops of your ears as well. Words are cheap like chinese food, but you don’t dare verbalize it and continue to poke at your chicken.

“A lot of the men here still want to impress a dead man.” Tony says around a mouthful of food, “failing to see the bigger picture.”

“Yeah?” You hum, “and what’s that?”

“The Future.” He punctuates the word with a wag of his chopsticks, “SI doesn’t have to derive all it’s funds as the US government’s proverbial Big Stick.”

“Board would say otherwise,” you bite your tongue, wishing you could unsay the words. Tony purses his lips together in a tight line before continuing to eat.

“Future always ushers in change,” he eventually speaks after most of the food is gone, “and your work will be right there with it.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “stop trying to butter me up,” you accuse him, feeling comfortable around him as you both laugh.

“I’m not!” Tony defends himself as he swipes up both the fortune cookies before tossing one your way. “You’re the—”

You reach across the table, hand resting on his wrist. The gesture stealing the words from his lips as his gaze falls to your hand in silence. The pad of your thumb circles against the soft skin above his watch band before you pull away.

“You first,” you say motioning to the cookie in his hand.

His tongue darts out, licking along his lower lip as he tries to summon the courage to speak again. The cookie cracks in his hand before he pulls the paper from the crumbs.

“I make good rice.”

Laughter erupts from both of you, travelling through the evening air and setting sun.

“Confucius has you pegged.”

“Do I look like someone who could handle even rice on his own?”

Tears well in the corners of your eyes from laughing as you swipe at your face. His own smile is radiating, and you can’t help but be drawn into the warmth. You suddenly feel chilled on your side of the table, too much space between you. You shift in your seat as you crack your cookie.

Your eyes widen as you read over the slip of paper once, and then twice. You shift a glance at Tony whose head is tilting ever so curiously to the side. His hand slides across the space, mimicking yours earlier as he takes your hand in his, entwining your fingers.

“You did this on purpose didn’t you?”

“What?” 

A burst of warmth erupts in your chest. A passing thought of fate scatters itself in front of you but you shake it away as you hand him the piece of paper. It reads:

_ Could I get some directions? (“To Where?”) To your heart. _

**Author's Note:**

> not my fortune cookie but [even i'm not cheesy enough for this](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/De-CCOtU0AAA7jR.jpg).


End file.
